


seal my heart and break my pride

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5 Acts Meme, Angsty Schmoop, Episode Tag, Holding Hands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>If only he really had been Ned Stark’s </i>ward<i>.</i> Tag to the King in the North scene, wherein Theon has a lot of things to think about and Robb knows what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seal my heart and break my pride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soapboxblues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapboxblues/gifts).



> written for the last five acts exchange; the prompts were angst and hand-holding. The title is from Mumford and Sons, nothing else belongs to me.

His knee is tingling.

It has since the moment he bent it, but it’s not because he feels ashamed. (He should. Ironborns don’t bend their knee to anyone, especially the son of the man who took you hostage – but that’s not it.) It’s because of something else, something other, something that he can’t quite name.

Even if he knows what started it.

_We’re brothers, now and always_ , Robb had said. And that had sealed it – he couldn’t hate himself for bending the knee. Not when Robb had said it out loud. Not when he had been wanting to hear it since years. He knows he shouldn’t want it, he knows he should think about the two brothers he had, but he can barely remember them and what he remembers isn’t the kind of memories anyone would cherish. He stands outside his tent, recalling that moment in his head, Robb’s voice saying _now and always_ , the sound of it so very sweet. It turns at least half bitter when he thinks that like this he’s still half an hostage, that having bent the knee doesn’t mean that at the next battle they’ll be fighting as equals, and his good mood turns slightly sour at that. If only he really had been Ned Stark’s _ward_. If only –

“Stop thinking that hard. That doesn’t suit you.”

If it had been anyone else saying it, he’d have probably lashed. But it’s Robb and he doesn’t, not when suddenly a hand is on his stomach, an arm circling his waist, Robb’s chin pressed on his shoulder.

“Shut up, Stark. You need to work on your japing. Oh, beg your pardon. _Your Grace_.”

Robb huffs, moving back and closing his hand around Theon’s elbow before dragging himinside the tent.

“I’d have hoped that you out of everyone wouldn’t have bothered,” he says then, his hand still there. He doesn’t move it away and Theon doesn’t tell him to.

“Why, hearing it doesn’t make you feel good? One would think the contrary. Your Grace.”

Robb’s eyes go dark for a moment before he shakes his head, his fingers going to Theon’s neck, his thumb drawing a circle over his pulse point.

“No, that doesn’t make me feel good. Besides, you don’t mean it.”

Theon snorts – fine, he hadn’t been serious. But he still did bend the knee – he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been sure about that, at least.

“Maybe I do. You can never be too sure.” Robb stares straight at him, and Theon is ready when cold lips meet his, Robb’s free hand tangling in his head. He likes the way Robb tugs at his hair – his grip is strong but not hurtful, and the inside of his mouth is as hot as the outside isn’t. After all, it’s chilly outside. But Robb’s lips are warm when they part, and his eyes are dark blue, and Theon’s heartbeat has sped up just slightly.

“Just so that it’s clear,” he whispers, “you didn’t have to do that. I know.”

Theon swallows, his fingers brushing down the side of Robb’s face, tracing red curls. “What if I wanted to?”

He doesn’t say anything else. Not _what if I wanted to swear my sword to you_. Or _what if I also had hoped to hear you say it._

It’s better if he keeps his mouth shut for once.

“Then don’t call me that. You don’t have to do that, either.”

His hand moves from the back of Theon’s head to the side of his face and Theon can’t resist the temptation – he reaches up, covering Robb’s hand with his, his heart beating a steady, fast rhythm when Robb’s fingers tangle with his own.

“I don’t need you to say it,” Robb whispers, his mouth against Theon’s ear, his fingers still curled around Theon’s own. “That’s not how I want this to be.”

“And how would you want it to be, then?” His tone isn’t half as sure as he’d like.

Robb smiles, bringing their joined hands together, brushes his lips against Theon’s knuckles.

“Now and always. How else should I want it to be?”

Theon swallows, those three words sounding even sweeter now that they’re alone and no one else is around to hear them.

“Then you have me,” he whispers, wishing he could just not say it, wishing that a part of him wasn’t reproachfully informing him that an ironborn would die before saying that kind of thing.

Instead, he can only look straight into Robb’s dark blue eyes, then at their still joined hands, and he knows that this should be wrong and they should hate each other. He knows that he shouldn’t accept not being Robb’s equal.

For now, he thinks about those three small, lousy, treasured words (now and always, now and always, now and always) and he lets himself believe them.

End.


End file.
